One thing many people around me fail to understand is how something as insignificant to one as what grows out of the follicles of their head can be of such substantial importance to another. For many, hair is a valuable part of their individual identity and holds cultural significance. In the years I have been alive and have been a Black woman, the word nappy has never fallen short of being used to describe me.
The hair that surrounded my head full of knowledge, emotions, and dreams bigger than my afro was how I defined my self-worth; however, this was only until I decided to let loose of the negativity I found surrounding me, and finally allowed myself to love my hair in every curl, braid and twist it came in. As a young girl it was difficult to find beauty in my hair. At church, I would pray that God would bless me with silky smooth locks like the white girls in Sunday school had.
The next morning I would look in the mirror only to find a tangled mess atop my head, all thanks to my bonnet falling off in the middle of the night. I eventually became obsessed with the most imperfectly perfect, lazy, yet cute, tumblr girl aesthetic hairstyle there was. THE messy bun.
Knowing that the look could never be achieved, I chose the only reasonable option there was for a 12-year-old girl who hates her hair texture: getting a relaxer! My messy buns became the cutest I could get without being a blonde, and being able to feel the breeze on my scalp was truly amazing ...
for about three mo.
